Weird Dreams
by BiteMeBro522
Summary: Crackfic. After experiencing a bizarre and horrifying dream, we'll take a look at how a handful of bots handle it, and a glimpse into what comes after. T for safety. (The first chapter's as weird as it gets)
1. Dreaming Madness

_**Weird Dreams**_

 **Hey guys, a new story, and my first TF fanfic! Woo!**

 **NOTE: You'll notice (*) in two places in the chapter. (*) is to notify you that something is outside material, and I have NO ownership of said material. You'll know it when you see it.**

 **NOTE II: THIS STORY IS COMPLETE CRACK! THIS STORY IS NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY. THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER WAS BASED ON A DREAM THAT I HAD, AND THE REST OF THE STORY IS MY TAKE OF THE FOLLOWING REACTIONS.**

 **Cyber-Terms**

 **Femme-** female

 **Mech-** male

 **Frag-** Cybertronian cuss; basically meaning "fuck"

 **Servo-** arm/hand

 **Helm-** head

 **Frame-** body

 **Pedes-** I pronounce it as "p-EE-ds" but I could be wrong. Means "feet" or "foot" if singular. Sometimes means "legs" as well, but not in this case.

 **(Facial) Constructs-** basically means (facial) features.

 **Spark-** Means "heart" in this case, sometimes means "soul" as well.

 **Optics-** eyes

 **Creator-** parent. Usually, a Creator is specified as "Mech Creator" or "Femme Creator" which is just "Father/Dad" and "Mother/Mom" respectively.

 **Processor(s)-** I'm referring to it as "brain(s)"

 **Primus-** Cybertronian God; basically a Cybertronian Jesus. Brother to Unicron, of which is basically the Cybertronian version of the devil.

 **Lip Plates-** lips

 **Purge-** barf/throw up

 **Tanks-** I'm referring to it as "stomach"

 **Spinal Strut-** spine

 _Thoughts_

" _Translations from Cybertronian to English"_

* * *

I was a femme. That was the first thing that I noticed. A human femme. But that didn't make sense; was I not a Cybertronian mech? I shrugged it off as a familiar Decepticon scuttled closer, _Alarm, I should be alarmed, why am I feeling such camaraderie? It doesn't make sense..._

"Hey Scorponok," I heard myself say, and felt a big smile grace my organic mouth. "You almost done?" I heard him chirp and whir in response, _"Yes almost."_ I translated in my mind. "Perfect." I looked around at my surroundings, I was in a fairly large building "lobby", painted and decorated in bright colours; bright blue, yellow, orange, and pink being the most prominent. Very spacious and professional looking, in her - _his?-_ opinion. She _-He-_ briefly recognized Frenzy helping some men load boxes into a cart, before his attention was occupied. Was the war over? A truce? Did some 'Cons defect? **What was going on?!**

"Hey sweetheart," An adult human femme wrapped a servo around my shoulders and pecked my cheek with a kiss. _Mom..._ by human brain supplied. "Is Scorps done? We have incoming Decepticons and we need him to activate the locking mechanism."

"Alright, I'll go let him know," I said, and walked over to the metal scorpion-looking Decepticon. "Hey, we've got incoming. Activate the locks, please?" I asked sweetly. Scorponok chirped before beginning to shifting into the strangest looking safety locks he had ever seen. "You're going too fast, you'll scare someone." He slowed down the process. "A little slower." He then slowed his shifting process down to a "snail's pace" as I'm sure the humans would say. "You can speed up just a tad." When Scorponok fixed his shifting speed to more reasonable pace, I giggled and clapped in joy. "Perfect." What... the actual... **FRAG!** Did I just _giggle?_ I don't **giggle!**

I turned around and saw an Asian man _-Wang-_ looking quite frantic. Pacing and muttering under his breath, so I walked over to him and asked what was wrong. He looked up looking rather affronted.

"What? You want some of me? You want a piece of this?!" He hissed, wiggling and dragging his hands down his torso in an uncomfortable manner.

 _No, of course I don't..._ "Maybe I do." _... Excuse me?..._ I watched as he contemplated and then grabbed my human servo, before dragging me to the restroom next to us. _No... NO..._ _ **NO!**_ In my panic, I only mildly noted the black tiles on the floor and half-way up the walls to meet the lovely, bright yellow walls, and the black granite counters holding stainless steel sinks and faucets. My panic eased when I was pushed into a separate stall as him, but my discomfort increased when I heard the organic male unzip his pants and rustled them around. Seeing him try to hand me a long slip of paper over the bright yellow stall, I snatched it with a soft "Gotcha," before looking up in time to see a classic Decepticon-styled bomb float above said stall. "Oh no." I heard myself groan, before bolting out the stall in time to hear Wang cry out "Go! Leave me! It's all over for me!" with anime tears flowing down his face as he reached for me, and just opening the restroom door in time for the bomb to explode.

At this point, my view shifted into a third person point-of-view as I watched a tall, young femme with blonde tresses was thrown to the other side of the room. I cringed when I witnessed the force of the blast had forced her helm to leave semi-large cracks in the dim yellow tiled wall, then slam it into the dark grey tiles of the floor. With that, I once again slid back into my first person point-of-view.

I opened my optics to a blurry Sam try and bring me 'round to consciousness, saying a muffled, unfamiliar name. I watched as her shaky servo attempted to give Sam the completely undamaged roll of paper that still resided in her hand. "Hide... Hide it..." She murmured. I watched as he quickly shuffled the paper into one of his many pockets as Ratchet leaned over, most likely to check my injuries that I had sustained in the blast, before leaving just as quickly.

"Come on, up you get." Sam muttered, pulling my frame to its pedes, patting the dust off my clothes, and helping me stay upright as my hearing and sight returned to normal. _Whoa, whoa, whoa! It is not possible for a human to recover from a hit to the helm so quickly!_ _I should still be on the ground, unable to process properly!_ My confusion took on a whole new level as I gently took Sam's servo and lead him down a hall, perfectly fine.

"We need to get those pieces of paper sorted out and give them to Lennox..." I was saying, before I spotted a bald man in a wheelchair and froze, in both speech and body, in fear. I didn't recognize him, for we were back on to him so I couldn't see his facial constructs. But apparently, my host knew him quite well, because she was all but dragging poor Samuel back the way we came.

"Who? What? What's wrong?" He yammered.

" _Charles Xavier."_ I hissed. Hmm, if I recalled correctly, _Charles Xavier_ was a fictional character created by a well-known human. _Why would he exist?_ _ **How**_ _could he exist?_ I felt my confusion and frustration levels rise some more.

I watched different hallways and humans of all sorts pass us as Sam and I winded down the many passageways that made up this unusual building. After passing countless hallways in what seemed like only just a few seconds, Sam spoke up.

"Hey, hey stop! Stop for a sec!" he squawked, tugging on my hand roughly.

"What is it now, Sam?" I closed my eyes in exasperation as I sighed just before I turned around.

But I opened my eyes to a drastically different scene.

I opened my eyes to a never ending pit of darkness, flames licking the ground beneath the earthen pedestal I stood on, causing a devilish glow to provide little to no light. I gasped as ungodly screams began to utter forth from beyond the reaches of the light of the flames. I began to flail wildly as I spun around, before freezing as familiar, dark, cruel, unholy cackling echoed around me.

"No..."

 _No..._

"No, no, no, no!"

 _No, no, no, no!_

Both me and my femme body screamed as a face -just a massive face, so big that it and the flames and their glow was all my optics could take in- appeared out of the curtain of darkness.

"Well, well, well! What do we have here?" the face drawled, crimson eyes glowing. He said the odd name of my host, softly, almost reverently, like a lover's caress.

"No, you're supposed to be dead! YOU. ARE. DEAD!" She screamed. My own confusion and disbelief fuelling her own.

"Ahh, so naive. Did you really think that the Auto-scum could defeat me?" Megatron sneered.

"They did it before, a-and they'll do it again!" _Yes..._

"And how do you think that will happen... IF THEY'RE ALL DEAD!" He roared, a just-as-massive hand appeared out of nowhere, pointing to the side... where the corpses of the Autobots lay brokenly, optics dim, and armor brutally damaged. _No, my comrades, my friends, my family, my brothers, and sisters..._ I felt grief weigh down on my shoulders and chest, my spark quivering painfully as the femme I occupy screamed. "Now... it's time..." I felt my gaze be torn from the gruesome scene and to the optics of my greatest and most hated enemy.

"To... PARTY!" I blinked as the massive hand snapped its bulky fingers and the entire view changed once again... and the mech wasn't sure if this was preferable...

Still on the pedestal, he now gazed into a big, open metal room, decorated in human streamers, balloons, and confetti of various bright colours. In front of him stood Megatron, dressed in a... pink... tutu?... arms spread wide and terrifyingly happy smile gracing his jagged features. "Hit it!" He boomed, pointing to Soundwave, who was stationed in the back corner behind a DJ board, using his tentacles to control the music and strobe lights, both of which turned on at Megatron's request. One lone tentacle slithered up and placed a pair of all-black sunglasses over his visor, and his expressionless face began to bounce to the beat.

Looking just to the side of Soundwave he felt the femme's optics widened when they caught a glimpse of Ravage sat on his haunches playing a trombone* and Lazerbeak opening and closing an oven door* to the beat Soundwave had set, both wearing identical all-black sunglasses to their Creator.

Beginning to freak out, the femme turned her optics back to Megatron... who promptly began doing the salsa... with himself. The utterly baffled mech vaguely heard the femme scream, before turning her eyes to the right...

...In time to see Barricade doing the worm, the smuggest and most content look on his face the mech had ever seen on the front liner. _I didn't know we could bend like that..._

The femme shrieked once again before whipping her gaze to the other side of the still-dancing Megatron... To see Starscream and Shockwave getting it on.

 _MY OPTICS! MY PROCESSORS! NOO!_ For the slightest of seconds, both human femme and Cybertronian mech stared at the two frames in disgusted horror as Starscream pinned Shockwave to the wall, their glossas visibly intertwining, causing drool to coat both orifices and... begin to drip onto both participates chest plates -said participates otherwise too preoccupied to notice- as _-OH DEAR PRIMUS!-_ Starscream began to shamelessly hump his current lover... not that Shockwave seemed to care. Or, rather, quite to his enjoyment.

I, my confusion long since been lost to the metaphorical wind, clenched my jaw shut and slapped a non-existent hand over my lip plates, struggling not to purge my tanks at the view that will undoubtedly haunt my processors for many eons to come.

After what felt like much too long, the femme finally turned away from the sight, a screech that was much louder than the previous ones erupting from her mouth. Before turning back to Megatron, who had changed his... dance styles...

The mech was fairly certain the humans called the style... twerking.

And did Megatron twerk with a gusto. To the point that the small bit of processor power that wasn't stalled at the horror of Megsie's bouncing bottom was concerned about his spinal strut bending in such a way.

His femme host ripped their gazes away from the twerking monstrosity in a desperate attempt

to find something -anything- that wouldn't melt their processors. Alas, every turn they made only resulted in the same visuals spinning around their pedestal, as the background faded to black, and purple and green smoke tendrils wove in and out and in between the Cons as they shamelessly danced, bobbed, banged, blew, and humped, further driving both the femme and the mech into insanity.

 _No... this isn't happening... this... this can't be real..._ The mech thought over the woman's screaming. _No... this can't be happening... this... this has to be a dream, a nightmare-no, a night-_ _ **terror**_ _!_

 _ **NNNNOOOOOO!**_

* * *

 **So, there you go. That's the first chapter. That's the crackiest it's gonna get. Maybe. I haven't decided yet...**

 **Anyway, I want your suggestions on whose reactions you want to see! I've already got three or four in mind, but Ratchet is off the list automatically because he was in the dream -briefly albeit, but in there nonetheless. To have a chapter dedicated to his reaction would mean I'd have to tweak _this_ chapter, and I'd rather not...**

 **I'm thinking I'll update in about a week or two, so stay tuned...**

 **Don't forget to R &R and VOTE!**

 **Write On**

 **~BMB**


	2. Jazz

**-Alternate Ending 1-**

 **Jazz**

 **Warnings:** **OOC, Slight romance.**

 **Word Count:** **About 2500**

 **Notes:** **This is probably going to be the longest chapter. I have once again provided term definitions that appear in the following chapter. You'll notice that I didn't repeat the terms that appear in both this chapter and the last. I'd apologize for any OOC-ness, but this is a crackfic and isn't meant to be taken seriously.**

 **Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN TRANSFORMERS!**

* * *

 **Slag-** Cybertronian cuss. Meaning "shit" or "damn".

 **Internal Fans-** Fans inside a Cybertronian frame that cools their systems. Usually activated in response to emotions (anger, fear, embarrassment, arousal, etc.), and when the frame and systems are under stress and exertion.

 **Nose Components-** Nose.

 **The Pit-** Cybertronian Hell, and home to Unicron. Not to be confused with the human slang "pit(s)", in reference to armpits.

 **Aft-** Ass/butt.

 **Recharge-** Sleep.

 **Bolts-** Balls (The testicle kind).

 **Vorn-** A Cybertronian year. Equivalent to about 83 Earth years.

 **Glitch(es)-** Cybertronian cuss. Varies depending on context, usually meaning "bitch(es)". Can be used to refer to an actual glitch (in technology).

 **Comm Systems-** A communications system that's installed into each bot to keep each individual connected. Can be used to open/close/locked doors and interact with Cybertronian technology.

 **Berth-** Bed.

 **Vocalizer-** Voice (box). Produces a bots voice. Can be damaged and/or have glitches (Like in Bumblebees case).

 **Torqued-** Cybertronian slang, meaning "angry/upset".

 **Revved-** In this case, "aroused".

 **Audios** \- Ears.

 **Interfacing** \- Sex.

 _Thoughts_

 _::Comm. Link::_

"Speech"

* * *

Jazz awoke violently, jerking upright and pointing charged plasma blaster at the first thing he saw... which just so happen to be Prowl, resident Security Officer and Optimus' right-hand-man. Of which probably wouldn't be too pleased if he found out he shot said R-H-M.

So, with this in mind, among other reasons, he lowered his blaster, but was too tense to turn it off, so, it remained humming at his side.

" _Prowler?_ Primus, Darlin', whataya doin'? You of al' mechs should know betta than to sneak up onna sleepin' mech!" Jazz ranted, rubbing his face with his free hand.

"'Darling'? Where did that come from?" Prowl asked, desperately trying to feign innocence and keep the smirk from creeping across his face.

Mother of **SLAG!** He hadn't meant to say that out loud! Bumbling around he frantically tried to come up with an excuse. "Bah-wha? N-no, s-see you-ah, what I-I-I meant to s-say w-wa- _ahem_. N-nevermin' dat, w-wha's goin' on?" Jazz hopelessly tried to put up a front of indifference, as he finally clued in to the red flashing emergency lights and the distant wailing of a siren.

"Oh, the base is under attack." Prowl turned to leave. "Jazz?"

"Y-yeah?" _Primus, please don't call me out..._

"Don't call me Prowler." With that, the black and white, red-horned bot turned the corner to go to battle.

Once the mech was out of sight, Jazz breathed out the tension remaining in his frame from the dream -nightmare- and the confrontation with the mech he'd been eyeing since he met the guy, many, many vorns ago. He collapsed back onto his berth.

"'Darling'? Stupid." He quietly chided himself. He emphasized his stupidity with a solid facepalm. "Stupid. Stupid! Real smooth _Jazzman_." He snarled before sighing and getting up; he might be needed up top.

Walking out the door and turning to follow Prowl down the hallway that would lead him to the battle, that was undoubtedly beginning above ground, only to very nearly walk right into the very mech that has dominated his thoughts for the last few millennia.

"By the way," Prowl drawled, pushing himself off the wall not feet from the entrance to Jazz's quarters. He leisurely closed the distance between them and bent over to make up for the height difference so they were eye to eye. Jazz mentally cursed as his internal fans kicked in, reacting to the heat beginning to develop at his core. "You never did tell me where 'Darling' came from."

Slag. Was he flirting with him? Frag, whatever this is, is hot. Jazz decided not to dignify the statement with a response, but rather stood there, staring into intense cobalt optics.

Intense. Ha, yeah that's one word explain Prowl.

They were close to each other, really close. Their nose components nearly touching, when an explosion rocked the ground and made walls rattle. Both bots broke eye contact to look up.

 _::_ _Where the_ _ **PIT**_ _are Prowl and Jazz?! We're getting our afts handed to us!::_ Ironhide roared over the comms and both mechs glanced at each other.

"To be continued." Prowl quipped before turning and sprinting down the length of the hallway, before disappearing.

Jazz still wasn't quite sure what had exactly happened and was desperately trying to convince himself he didn't stare at Prowl's bouncing doorwings or plump, perfectly round aft as he left. He stood there for a few more seconds, before slowly walking to the wall and slamming his helm into said wall at a slow, even pace.

"Dis's not mah day. First, tha' pit-spawned nigh'mare from da PIT. Then, I make mehself look like da bigges' idiot ta crawl outta da Allspark, 'n frontta the mech I've had optics fer since ferever, ta boot." He stopped his banging and just let his helm rest against the wall. "M'be a Con will blast meh in da processors n'get meh outta da convo I knows Imma gon' get afta dis..."

 _::_ _JAZZ!::_ Jazz actually jumped and grumbled under his breath a little before he responded.

 _::_ _I'm comin'! Keep ya arm'r on! I jus' got outta recharge!::_ Jazz straightened up and sped up his pace to a light jog; he wasn't overly concerned with him being late for the battle. He trusted his comrades to hold their own until he got there; they've done it for longer with less.

Arriving at the top pf their underground base, he quickly launched himself at the first Con his eyes set on. A Con that just so happened to be about to attack an otherwise occupied Optimus Prime.

* * *

"...An' den Meg'tron started -nugh- good one- TWERKING!" His opponent jerked his counter-attack to a stop in surprise, and if a face unable to produce an expression could look disgusted and mildly horrified, then that was what Jazz was seeing. "I know right!" Jazz had drifted away from the rest of the Autobots, but that was fine. In the midst of all the fighting, he had found what was his closest friend in the Decepticon ranks. N-462 was a drone, therefore pretty much mute, but easily the best drone-fighter of his brethren and an excellent listener.

Which was exactly what he needed after such a god-awful start to his day.

"An' den- AN' DEN- nyah- oh! I got ya good dere!- I made mehself look li'e the **bigges'** twit ta ever exis' ta _Him_." N-462 didn't know who he had eyes for, but he knew there was someone, and that was more than enough information to Jazz. N-462 nodded sympathetically. "Twice." The drone tittered and slowly shook his head before they threw themselves at each other once again. After so much dodging, slashing, and counter-attacks they finally locked blades so they were face-to-face. "M'be I shou' getta setta bolts and tell 'im already. I mean, it's been ta many vorns ta count already, an' the wors' he can say is no..." the more he thought about it, the more his resolve solidified. "Yeah, yeah! Y'know what, dat's what Imma gon' to do. Imma tell him right afta da battle!"

" **RETREAT! DECEPTICONS, RETREAT!"**

"Which... is a lot soona dan I thought t'was gonna be..." Jazz mumbled. Nonetheless, the two bots disengaged their weapons and backed away from each other. Jazz raised his voice enough so that just the drone could hear him. "T'anks man, next time's yer turn!"

Continuing to back up, N-462 gave a subtle nod before disappearing into the retreating mob of Decepticons. For many vorns now, he and N-462 would trade off being a source to vent. Jazz, like tonight, would rant and rave about the newest reason for him to be upset. For N-462, since he couldn't speak, he preferred to duke out his frustrations in a fight. Which was perfectly fine to Jazz; he honestly didn't care much about Decepticon drama. And for the rare occasion that neither needed to let off steam, they simply sparred in a semi-friendly fashion.

But the drone's forced muteness and the unspoken agreement they have aside, Jazz wasn't too worried about N-462 spilling his guts to Mega-twat. Even when completely and utterly torqued about something, Jazz was always sure never to say anything that would threaten the safety of his comrades: a friendly Con was still a Con, and would still put its loyalty to its cause before any camaraderie with an adversary.

Plastering on his usual grin, Jazz exchanged his blade for his blaster and began shooting off at the moon. "Dat's right ya pit-spawned glitches! Run away li'e da cowards ya are!" he roared, hearing similar insults from the mouths of the most of the Autobots.

Letting his grin rest to a soft smile, he let the tension drain from his frame as he began his trek back to base, completely unaware of the optics staring at his back from behind some foliage.

* * *

Jazz shuffled to his quarters, tired from the battle, the clean up, the debriefing, and his interrupted recharge cycle didn't help anything. He sighed as commed the code to unlock his door, which opened with a soft _whoosh_.

Suddenly, he was grabbed and tossed onto his berth. Jazz automatically twisted in mid-air, brought his blaster to life and pointed it at his attacker. Who he saw threw him for a loop.

"P-Prowl?!" He gasped. "Whattaya doin'?" He let his frame relax, and the back of his head hit the metal berth with a _clang_. "Primus, mech, I nearly putta hole in ya head."

"You know, sharing information with Decepticons is a serious offence, Jazz."

Jazz lurched his upper body off the berth, a strangled _wha_ emitted from his vocalizer, shock, hurt and anger warring in his spark over the accusation. "Wha?! Prowl, whattaya-"

"You were seen, Jazz. I saw it myself." Jazz, too blindsided by everything, failed to see Prowl slowly inch forwards, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his normally schooled expression and doorwings were twitching in response to his emotions.

"I have never shared any information with any Decepticon, Prowl. You need to get your optics checked." Getting swept up in barely contained emotion, Jazz unconsciously slipped from his semi-pseudo accent.

Prowl's sadistic side had reared its rare head and, despite the not-so-small burning in his spark, he was enjoying this immensely. "I saw you talking with one today, during the fight."

 _What?_ "The drone? Primus, Prowler, you've got it all wrong!"

"Then explain it to me." Jazz proceeded to launch into a detailed explanation on how they met, why they kept meeting up, and so on. Prowl couldn't help the grin spreading across his face; who knew it would be so easy to get _The Jazzman_ all riled up? Although, it was nice to the truth behind the Autobot saboteur and the Decepticon drone.

Finally having reached the berth Jazz was sitting on, who was waving his arms around to express himself, and having enough of the game, Prowl threw himself at the smaller bot mid-sentence.

Panicked, Jazz automatically began to struggle before Prowl sealed his lip plates to his own. Completely blindsided, it took Jazz's processors a few seconds to catch up to what was happening. Realizing that his crush was currently straddling his waist and pushing his lip plates around with his own, Jazz quickly got with the program and threw himself into the kiss with long-restrained passion.

Prowl smirked into the kiss; _this_ is what he was hoping for. Jazz's stillness had started to alarm him, forcing him to start thinking that he'd been misreading all the flirting and _stares-from-across-the-room_ 's over the last few millennia. But when Jazz started to kiss him back with a fervour that surprised him slightly, Prowl felt the tension building up in his frame release, and he let himself relax into the embrace. After what felt like both light years and seconds, the two bots pulled away from each other, gasping for air.

(While they don't need to _breathe,_ per se, their cooling systems are built in such a way that they need gaseous substance for coolant to be pumped to various overheating systems. So, they do need to "breathe", but they aren't entirely reliant on any one gas.)

Prowl onlined his optics, which had offlined earlier, and stared at the still-panting Jazz below him, smirking when the smaller bot onlined his optics moments later.

"Not that I'm complaining," Jazz murmured, slightly dazed still. "But where the _frag_ did _**that**_ come from?"

Prowl's smirk grew into a grin, before getting up, fixing himself and making his way to the door. "I think I'll let you figure that out."

The saboteur gaped at the receding back before scrambling off the berth and grabbing the security officer's arm. "Aw pit naw, are ya goin' ta get meh all revved up 'n leave." Jazz expertly yanked back, flipped, then shoved larger bot onto his berth before climbing to sit on his waist. Leaning down, he started attacking his lover's neck cables with his mouth and tongue, while fingering the sensitive seams of his chassis.

Prowl gasped and moaned quietly. "Well... If you insist." Jazz grinned into his neck.

"Indeed I do."

* * *

Jazz all but skipped into battle, quickly spotting his favourite Con-drone in the mess of littered frames (usually Decepticon, Jazz noted) and fighting bots pumped on "adrenaline". Jazz swiftly swiped, slid, ducked, punched, and jumped over adversaries until he reached N-462, and they subtly started to break off from the fray. Once as far from the prying audios as they could, Jazz straightened and grinned at the drone. "Man, do we have so'e ca'ching up ta do!"

As Jazz launched into what had been going on since they had last seen each other, including his finally-blooming relationship with his _M_ _ystery_ _M_ _ech_ (mech, because the Decepticons were keeping track of who landed, and no femmes from either faction has been spotted yet), N-462 watched the expressive -which is odd with his visor shielding the top half of his face- bot tell his tale. Which, of course, included their as-frequent-as-possible interfacing sessions. N-462 didn't blame him; he was well aware of how long the small Autobot has been left wanting for the other mech, even if the drone had no idea of who had caught the saboteur's optic.

After N-462 was caught up, they sparred until the Decepticon retreat was sounded. The dark violet drone dallied until he was one of the last Cons to leave the battleground. At the last second, he glanced over his shoulder in time to see the Autobot SIC and Security Officer Prowl stop in front of Jazz, and for Jazz to lean up and smooch his lip plates against the other. The sight caused N-462 to stumble. _But Prowl? The strict stickler for rules that wouldn't know fun if he was smacked in the face with it?_ The drone sputtered in his head. Oh yes, even among the Decepticon ranks was Prowl's reputation known. _I'd never thought Jazz, who's practically the exact opposite, would have gone for him._

Arriving at the Decepticon base, he filed the memory away into its own folder compartment before going through the after-battle routine. Report, seek medical attention for injuries that were no-doubt present, refuel, and so on. It wasn't until N-462 laid down on berth in his private quarters -of which he shared with two others- that he opened the file once again and let it play over again on repeat, letting all emotions flow across his conscience for him to analyze accordingly. Particularly the odd burning sensation in his chassis, despite being newly repaired.

After so many Earth hours, N-462 sighed. There was no point in staying in the past. And it just wasn't worth the risk of this file being found. So with that thought in mind, and a quick plead to Primus (if he even listens to the prayers of a Decepticon soldier-drone) he did something he very rarely did.

He deleted the file. And the entire folder compartment. So there would be absolutely no trace that there ever was.

With that done, N-462 relaxed into his berth, beginning the sequence to slip into a well-earned recharge cycle. While were shutting down one by one, he thought once more about his Autobot acquaintance-friend. He knew what would happen if any other Con got their claws on the information on the now-exterminated file: Prowl's, and more importantly Jazz's, lives would be at risk and they would be targeted.

And he just couldn't do that to _Him_.

* * *

 **And that concludes the second chapter. Stay tuned for Ironhide, Sunny and Sides (with a Ratchet cameo), and Optimus!**

 **BIG THANK YOU FOR THOSE WHO REVIEWED! BTW THE FIRST CHAPTER IS AS WEIRD AS IT GETS!**

 **R &R**

 **~BMB**


End file.
